Crossing The Glass
by Charlemaine
Summary: Glimpses on Jekyll's fascination with his younger self as Hyde through reflection  literally. Plus an adventure or two... Contains sexual content no really explicit descriptions, though. Bookverse but with a few nonStevenson additions.
1. Reflect Upon Thyself

**Chapter 1:**

**Reflect Upon Thyself**

Hastie Lanyon had his ear against the door, listening to the strange gasping utterances with mounting dread. Surely he must leave before Jekyll threw open the door to find him, old Hastie, stupidly gaping and full of suspicion. He had only come on an errand – to fetch the mysterious phials for which the good doctor had requested – why, he could simply leave the package at the door and walk away, none the wiser. But no – these were valuable substances. Jekyll had said as much. So what now - ?

The despicable creature writhed before Henry in a grotesque erotic dance. In the mirror the doctor saw his younger self, the same brilliant eyes – but twisted and snarling and malevolently charming. Edward Hyde's unkempt locks hung in tangled vines, half-shielding his face and glaring golden eyes. He was smallish, lithe, naked: a smattering of silky chest hair trailing down his torso to a place Henry had not even looked at in a long time. Ah, I am – I was – perfect, he thought. What happened? Did I never – no, forget it, distracting desires. Yet here was this delectable boy-man in the mirror, the epitome of all he had missed.

All he was not.

Or was.

"Go away," he told Edward.

"Why?" the imp of a man answered. "Do you not want me anymore?"

When the doctor ignored him, he pressed on. "Only you birthed me, and now I cannot go back in… I suppose you'll have to live with me. I cannot unmake myself and you cannot unmake me."

Cannot go back in. Cannot go back….cannot be unmade…..

"Henry?" Lanyon knocked a few times. Ach, but you are too timid! he berated himself. Why, Henry could be dying in there and you wouldn't have the courage to break down the door. A mouse! Not a man. That was what Mrs. Lanyon had oft said: one day his mousiness would cost a life. Jekyll's life, in this case.

Ah but he wasn't dying, was he? No, he must be merely having the time of his life with…who? A pretty young thing in need of medical help? Lanyon shuddered at the possibilities of all the intimate acts and sexual chicanery that could easily go on between doctor and patient, between a distinguished man in his forties and an impressionable young woman.

But that wasn't quite a woman's voice, right there, was it…

"You called me into being and now you want me to dissolve like one of your chemicals, your powders, your salts. How like a scientist!" said Edward. He leaned against the mirror-glass almost casually. On the other side – the real side; but what was real anymore? – Henry had his back turned to the doppelganger, fumbling in his bags for a pinch of that, that miracle salt – just a pinch, and then it would all go away. For a while. Just for a while.

"He's waiting at the door," Edward hissed, knowing what his other half was after. "With the ingredients for your precious potion."

"Piss off." Where was it, no, he had kept an emergency supply – hadn't he?

The doppelganger was hurt. "Oh. How convenient. Is this how you dismiss your lovers?"

Ignoring him, Henry continued to check his coat pockets, his pants. Sweat trickled down his arms and back.

Is that why you can never keep a woman in your be – "

"I said PISS OFF." A droplet of spittle flew out of Henry's mouth and landed on the mirror. To his revolt, the creature extended his pink tongue (so demons, too, have pink flesh, thought Henry) and licked the surface where the spit had landed. Licked the cool glass with his hot tongue. Enraged without knowing why, Henry landed a blow on the glass. It shook and Edward fell.

"There," he gasped, "you have me now. Conquer me, go on."

"I refuse to so much as touch you, you reviling creature."

"Go on. Make me sorry." The young man exposed his neck, which was the colour of pale pinewood. Unconsciously Henry touched his own skin. Did it really look like that? He was surprised to feel himself studying the young man in the mirror. Godssake, was he really this remarkable piece of work once? Had he looked just like that, without the nastiness and matted hair and sneering lips?

"I'm sorry." Now Edward was pathetic-like. "I cannot help myself."

"But I can," replied Henry. "And I command you to disappear."

"Oh Henry, how you hurt me! You horrid horrid man you, you hypocrite!" He genuinely flinched as if burnt by the command. "Have mercy, _Doctor_ Jekyll, I beg you."

At the mention of his upstanding profession Henry strode toward the mirror and laid his hand on it, as if he would grab Hyde by the neck and shake him. "Do not," he enunciated as calmly as he could manage, "mock me. _You_ are the mockery; you are the reflection."

Now Hastie was shifting from foot to foot like a man who will not hold his urine for much longer. His hand reached toward the doorknob, gripped it, jiggled it. He knocked again – louder now. "Henry?' he called. "Dr Jekyll?"

In return he got a moan that was so suggestive as to alarm him greatly. "Doctor, I'll just…leave this here, shall I?" he called over the scandalous din. Gingerly he laid the package at the door…

"Yes. I am the reflection." Edward laughed, the pretence of remorse gone. He had so enjoyed the look on Henry's face when he cried out so as to scare poor Lanyon away. "I think the old man has gone now," he murmured. "Wonder what sort of rumours will get out…"

"_Stop it!_" Jekyll banged on the mirror, again and again. "Stop it _stop it_ you are not in control you are _not_ – "

Suddenly his fingers were being gripped by Hyde's. Slowly he looked down in dread and felt faint: his hand had all but passed through the glass. Part of him had actually gone over to the other side.

"You know it's all a hallucination, don't you?" whispered Edward. "You can make it disappear. I tell you the truth." He took two of Henry's fingers and placed them in his mouth. Slowly and meticulously he sucked them, brushed them with his warm tongue, pushed them deeper till they touched the beginning of his throat while emitting muffled sighs. Henry simply watched, mesmerised by the hypnotic undulating of Hyde's moist lips. As he looked he had the strangest sensation – of Hyde's fingers in his mouth. Or rather, his own fingers in his mouth. He tried to cry out, he could not – gagged by his own flesh.

Oh the horror!

He pulled his hand back abruptly causing Edward to fall toward the glass surface – and this time it was the doppelganger who reached out and pulled him in.

The his world went upside down and everything dissolved into a painful whirlwind of colour.

Edward Hyde rose from his foetal position on the floor, fully formed and as solid as Henry had been. This time he found that he no longer skulked and crouched: he could stand almost as straight as the 'good doctor'. For a moment he had a mocking urge to grab Jekyll's fancy silver-topped cane and strike a pose – then he laughed and forgot all about it. He was as light and free and careless as a newly flown fledgling.

Minutes later he returned to the mirror to look at himself – he was dressed in one of Henry Jekyll's dapper midnight blue suits complete with a smoke-grey satin cravat and crimson kerchief. His hair was washed and combed, and hung in damp wavy locks. None of that neatly trimmed crop-and-sideburns for him. Tonight he had decided on the role of a ladies' man: charming, deshabille and a little dangerous.

He did have, he noticed, much of that sleazy menacing air still that no amount of cologne and tailored suits would dilute. Oh well. Put yourself out there and let them make of you what they will – always had been his creed.

As he did some last adjustments to the cravat, the pleading face of Henry suddenly surfaced in the mirror – "Don't do this!" it seemed to be mouthing. Now he was the one with the madly tousled hair and desperate scowl while his evil half appeared the perfect gentleman. Smiling, Edward only waved at him and walked out of the house with a whistle on his lips.

He saw that the package Lanyon was supposed to have left at the door was nonexistent. Oh well. Pity the fool who happened to lay his hands on it and experiment with the compounds inside. The air outside was cool and sharp: waiting for a devil to walk the streets. With a laugh that was almost more joyful than mocking, he embarked on his venture.


	2. A Pocket Trick

**Chapter 2:**

**A Pocket Trick**

A/N: The female lead below is based on Flo, a character – not originally in the book – who made an appearance in a 3-D graphic novel adaptation of Jekyll & Hyde (yes, the kinds that came with 3-D glasses). The story was rather badly plotted, and all that red-and-green dimensionality gave me a headache after about 3 minutes; but spunky Flo somehow stuck in my mind.

Flo Winters was just about ready to pack it up. It had been a bad night for selling flowers, but it was that or go back to being a 'working girl'. She didn't mind the work so much; it was the men she wanted to get away from. Rough, rowdy sorts that earned you more bruises than money in the end. A woman could age before her time if she wasn't careful, that was what momma had told her.

Good ol' momma who taught her the trade without meanin' to. Men who had seemed kindly, if a little rough about the edges, turned to brutes when she'd done with them and demanded payment. She had given her worth and now was your turn to give her yours. "Oh, shorly a travelled sailor loike you got summit up yer pockets – more 'n y' got between yer legs, anyway?" she'd exclaim when they short-changed her. This sort of exclamation was usually followed by an inebriated, enraged slap and momma's poor pretty bruised face the next day.

Of course there were the decent types too; but there was no point in holdin' out for those, dreamin' that they were gonna sweep you off your feet somehow. No, best save that for Cinderella 'cause _she _had never been a working gal. No siree. With that bludy delicate feet? Why, she'd trip on her face just tryin' to lift her skirts.

In the midst of her musings, she saw a shadow steal across the damp cobblestones and called out. "Violets for your gal, sir?" The day was over but no harm trying for a last customer…

The lean shadow stopped in its tracks, and Flo saw he was rather shorter than she'd at first imagined. "Violets…sir? For your sweetheart? Humble flowers, but they smell real pretty 'nuff. It's my last sale so I'll be willin' to make yer a discount, like." Her easy charming smile accompanied the pitch.

His eyes appeared to look her up and down, which did not bother her much. "Scoot off, little lady. The night's no place for the reformed likes of you."

"Why how'd you know I was – "

"I read minds, girl, now scram." The suave tone was gone.

"Ow well you needn't be so damned short about it." In a huff she covered her basket with her meagre shawl and started to walk away.

"Wait."

She stopped a little hesitantly (something told her she should walk away) and turned around partially. "Changed yer mind, didja?"

"Not about the flowers, no. About you." He held out a hand. "We were not introduced properly. I would like the lady's name."

"Oww, you." Flow was surprised to find her face hot. ""Lady 'ndeed! My name is Florence – or Flo if y'like."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Edward Hyde, at your service. Not to be intrusive, but may I walk you home?"

She hesitated, thought it over and warily accepted. "Mind, but I'm not offerin' no favours."

"I ask no favour save that I be let into your house. It's a colder night than I expected, I'd like to warm my hands."

They walked along the paved streets like an ordinary couple, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "What makes you seek out the company o' the likes o' me, then? I ain't got no money to spend on a roaring hearth; why, a trickle o' piss could put out what fire we got."

"Ah, well; you see, Flo, to my peers I am a man of charity and kindness. Yet in all my life I have never personally spent a second with the poor and ailing and needy. Treated them, yes (for I am a doctor) but I know nothing, actually, of a humble man's life. Therefore I decided that I must seek out the vagabonds and flower girls (not that I count you among beggars, but on a chilly night one can't help but feel sorry for you), and be more intimate as to the reality of their situation."

"Y'don't look like no doctor to me."

"And how should a doctor look like, Miss Flo?"

"I dunno; onlys I get the feelin' you trying to pull somethin' over me. Come now, you needn't act all respect'ble 'n like. I mean look atcher – what sort of proper doctor stalks th' roads at this time o' the night, without nowhere to go? You can tell Flo any ol' thing, she ain't tellin' nobody else. Why, who's she got to tell it to?"

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. "A man has to have his secrets. Surely you as a woman understand the…attractive mystery of a man who reveals little at first sight."

"I unnerstand a woman's got t' keep herself revealin' li'l by li'l too, else the men who jus' think she's a tramp lose intrest that fast – " she snapped her fingers to demonstrate the point. "Course, my dear momma who gave me that bit o' advice never practiced it herself." Sighing, she leaned against him ever so slightly. "Never been the secretive type meself. When I like a man it's all obvious and…" She genuinely blushed then. It was all this ridiculous 'lady' crap that was driving her so nuts for this gentleman. Why, if he had addressed her like a common trollop it would have made things much easier….

"Is this where you live?" They had turned a corner into a dank narrow street with a terribly uneven road. For all its obvious shabbiness, the place had a certain odd charm. The haphazard half-mended roofs and assortment of cheaply painted walls in different hues, and the old shutter windows – some with remnants of stained glass framed by peeling wood – would have made a charming painting, if interpreted through the lens of a romantic. If one ignored the sounds of squalor and the subtle but ever-present smell of dung, and the lining of side-swept trash that now lay masked by darkness.

"Aye, just a few more blocks down. I think you'd better go."

"May I not accompany you to the door?"

"No, sir, please – that is – well, good night." And just like that she was gone.

It so happened that as he turned around, he shoved his hand into his left pocket to discover his wallet was missing.


	3. The Forming of the Unholy Trinity

**Chapter 3**

**The Forming of the Unholy Trinity**

Flo hurriedly bolted the door rather more clumsily than usual and took off her shawl, shaking out her mass of golden-red curls. Her hair had been her gift, momma said; too bad about her pale freckled face and tiny bosom, no one could do nothin' bout that – but the girl had a natural charm that would bring her further than mere looks. Momma had been right, o' course. Poor old silly, wise momma. Poor dead momma.

"Jonah, you got supper ready?" she called.

From out of the tiny hole that served as a kitchen, a boy of about thirteen with tousled dirty-blond hair appeared. "Bin ready half an hour ago. Bit late tonight, aren't ya?"

She couldn't help but smile triumphantly. "Hooked a nice gentleman on the way in. Oh, but his purse feels fat. What a charmer he was! – 'nyway go on, open it."

He did so, and the coins jingling out onto the tabletop lit up Jonah's narrow face. "Reck'n I'll be able to get new shoes then? These are so wornd out, my toes're countin' the pavin' stones 'vrytime I walk."

"New shoes, and a new shawl for me – oh, I was freezin' thru the holes in this 'un! Get me some hot soup will ya dear."

The soup was more lukewarm than hot, but they weren't about to waste coal heating it up. Tomorrow they would hit the market…a bit of joy and spending while trying not to wear out their pickings too soon.

"Seen ol' Aunt Mary lately?" asked Jonah.

"Bah! Old coot wouldna spend two cents on us, the penny-tight bitch. Turned us out five years 'go when she got drift that momma was workin' th' streets…called us damn bastids – though we had a father, alright, onlys he left when you were a pink tot. Ah, but you're too young to remember all 'at. Good thing too."

As she was spooning more soup to her lips, a jarring kock on their rickety door made her drop the spoon. "Blast'd! Whatsit you want?" she yelled.

No answer, just more urgent knocking.

"Oh, fergodssa – " Her words died as she opened the door to find the Edward fella standing there, charming-dandy air all gone. His face was shadowed by contained rage. Behind her Jonah gasped.

Before she could react, he grabbed her by the throat. "Conniving bitch! Decided you'd lighten my pockets, did you? Let me teach you about taking advantage of a gentleman – "

A sharp blow landed on his head. "You ain't no gentleman, treatin' my sister like that!" The boy swung another blow, but Edward caught his wrist in time and twisted it. Jonah cried out – the high adolescent treble of a voice that had not yet broken. Edward realised that the genuine terror in both their faces, their voices, excited him immensely. He suddenly felt the raw urge he had pretended at when he took Henry's fingers in his mouth. Throwing Flo against the wall so she fell down stunned and half-conscious, he pinned Jonah to the floor and bit like a savage into the thin white shoulder. Instead of a loud cry, what he got was a painful half-moaning gasp that elicited even more sick pleasure. Jonah's struggle was cut short by the wiry but surprisingly strong hands gripping his arms in a deadlock.

The bite had not really done much harm, leaving a bloodless but very red row of tooth marks that would become a dark bruise in the morning. Hyde was grasped with a frightening, feral joy at the evidence of his own beastliness. He tore the boy's shirt from the shoulder to expose the tender flesh. Then he lowered his mouth to a spot somewhere below the marks and sucked on the undamaged skin. At the same time his hand slid down to the boy's thigh and squeezed hard enough to hurt. Ahh human flesh, soft and salty with filth, delicious filthy sweat so sweet and so warm…just what he needed…

A sudden white-hot sensation crushed its fingers around his nether regions. Screaming, Hyde rolled over to see Flo withdrawing her boot-clad foot from his groin. Her eyes were slightly dizzy but filled enough revulsion to focus themselves on him. In one hand she held a hot poker. "Get out, you cocksucker," she rasped.

He rose slowly, eyes on the poker. One or two nightly encounters had taught him never to underestimate a furious woman with a weapon.

Silently she pointed to the door, the sinews in her outstretched arm tight with anger and trepidation. He shrugged as if in defeat, then in a lightning-quick movement grabbed the frozen Jonah. "I'm taking him with me, if you don't mind," he growled with a thin smile.

Her grim face turned to wide-eyed horror. After a long silence she whispered, "An' what will you do with him, you disgustin' creature?"

Without an answer he dragged Jonah outside effortlessly. That was all she needed to drop the poker with a clang. "Edward…Edward, please. Look, you go 'way from 'ere an' I'll never tell no one bout nothin'." When he ignored her she continued: "Edward, I swear on my dead momma's life I'll report nothin' – "

"Won't you?"

"Yes, I mean no, no I won't never. What y'got to gain by killin' us anyway?"

Over her copper-coloured head he saw his face in a dirty little mirror, and Henry Jekyll's face emerged just briefly – swam on the glass surface, a look of pity and pleading in the watery eyes. Ah, weak Henry.

"Petty criminals, eh. I suppose it's a waste of my effort killing you both. So you can offer yourself up in place of your sibling."

Her pretty mouth wavered, twisted. "Wh…what?"

"Here." He tossed Jonah back to her. "I've decided I much prefer offing lovely young girls; although that_ is_ a pretty specimen I've just handed back. Still…" his white teeth glinted like a knife in the moonlight. "Come now, pretty dear. Before I am forced to _make _you run into my knife."

"So…so you'll kill me and let Jonah go?"

"Won't touch a hair on his skin."

She was rigid and trembling all over, but she forced her feet to move toward him and her arms to hover defenceless by her side. Her every nerve and fibre fought him but she willed herself to surrender.

He swept her up in his arms and captured her lips in a long, passionate kiss. Her inhalation of sheer surprise pleased him. His tongue speared the hot cavern of her mouth with absolutely no care for her decency, hands tearing her worn, faded clothes off.

"Goddamnit," she gasped. "Goddamn you."

"Want me to go away now?"

"Aren't you…going to (she was interrupted by another kiss) kill me?"

He slammed her against the wall outside. "Do I look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Yes. Yes you are. Oh…!" she exclaimed. Her terror and excitement now balled up into one furious sexual urge. "Whatever you're goin' t'do, jus' do it!"

"As you wish, ma'am." As he half-dragged, half-carried her inside her fingers were already clawing at his back. _What a woman!_ he thought. As he let go of her, he saw the boy staggering into an upright position, the poker now in his hand. With a careless wave Hyde knocked it out of his hand, then grabbed and threw him on the dirty pile beside the hearth that served as a mattress, where he ravished him furiously. Body melted into body; first the brother, then the sister. In the midst of the beastly orgy Hyde thought he heard a cry; he looked up once or twice to see a delirious vision of his other half's face warped and twisted in the mirror calling for him to stop.

Feverish and burning with shame in some otherworldly dimension of his psyche, Henry Jekyll felt the same erotic sensations coursing through Hyde's veins as he made cruel, brutal tender love to the siblings. He saw them collapse in sinful orgasm; saw the sister cast a sly sidelong look at her brother, whose limbs were still tangled with Hyde's leanly muscled ones, in an eerily incestuous manner. Of course, the poor woman wasn't exactly in her right mind; he knew all too well the semi-hypnotic power Edward had on certain vulnerable people. He hated the imp of a man wit a vengeance, watching him lick the sweat off Jonah's naked shoulder – _tasting_ the salty sweat on _his own tongue_ – it was almost more than he could bear.

"God damn you, Edward Hyde!" he roared, his screams unheard. As his world melted into insensibility, he saw the unholy threesome resume its twisting, grotesque, beautiful dance.


End file.
